


Gasoline Days

by JoAsakura



Category: X-Force (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rictor gets a second chance at life after Apocalypse. What will he make of it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The bombs never fell

Two years ago:

Mudir Rictor, betrayed by Apocalypse, had woken up in a regeneration tank. One of McCoy's many labs, seemingly long abandoned and running on emergency power.

He couldn't understand why he was alive. He certainly didn't WANT to be, after everything that had happened. But he was.

And worse, he wasn't alone.

Now:

He's never entirely sure that Seven understands him. He seems to, with those silver-blue eyes, bright like a knife's edge. He seems to, but he never speaks.

Which, Julio Richter thinks, is maybe for the best.

"Alright." Julio scratched through his stubble and pulled the young man's hood up. "You remember right? We stay away from humans. We stay away from mutants. But sometimes, we gotta get supplies, right?"

No response, other than those bright eyes watching him and it always makes him a little uncomfortable. "You keep your hood up an' your head down and don't leave my side, ok, Seven?"

A nod then, and Julio's relieved. "Good."

Two Years ago:

His head would never be right again, not where Apocalypse attempted to blow his brain apart. Whatever had caused Beast's tank to malfunction had left him missing an eye and a mess of scars where half his head had been.

The place was a disaster and Rictor had no idea how to get out. Some place for experiments away from Apocalypse's watchful gaze and it looked like McCoy wasn't coming back any time soon.

Damp from the tank's gel, he wandered the debris-strewn lab, shivering. His lord had killed him for his failure, McCoy had brought him back to life for some purpose he didn't even want to consider, and he was probably going to die of pneumonia or starvation, locked down in this forgotten dungeon.

He crouched down amidst the rubble, hugging himself for faint warmth. He felt small and hopeless, and that's when he remembered.

Now:

It was a shit town on the ass-end of what had once been Pennsylvania. Route 70 was being repaired nearby as the country lurched forward with it's reconstruction, and vehicles rumbled by without paying it much of a glance.

But it had canned goods and a wary population of ragged humans and ragged mutants and no one paid much attention to two more ragged sorts who straggled in periodically. Julio let them believe what they did. When the shopkeep asked if they'd been tortured, Julio would look down and shrug and that was enough.

Normally, Seven would loom quietly behind him. Julio would barter for some tins of food and the two would carry their haul back to the ruins where they'd found a home.

Today, unfortunately, was different.


	2. The small, pale hand

Two Years Ago:

Rictor was surprised when he remembered. A small, pale hand caught in his own.

Huddled against the chill in Beast's forgotten lab, he looked at his own hand, so much bigger now, and tried to remember the time before.

He couldn't remember the face that went along with that small hand, but he remembered the night. Mutant children gathered up from the ruins and torn from their families by Apocalypse's Horsemen. Brought before the great lord himself and awestruck by him.

More than anything, though, what Rictor clearly remembered about that moment, was letting go of that hand he'd clutched so tightly, to pump his fist in the air and whoop.

Now:

Julio bartered for food with salvage. He had discovered an aptitude for fixing things on their trek across country and Seven, despite his silence, was eerily good at repairs - no doubt thanks to Beast's apparent attempts to find the upper limit of how much he could tube-feed learning into his creation's brain.

Today had been one of the better trades. Aid trucks had come through the day before, and there was, amongst the protein packs and freeze dried veg bags, the utter luxury of tinned fruit. Seven had never, as far as Julio knew, had peaches. He could barely remember what they tasted like himself.

So when he turned to show his redhaired shadow his hard-won prize, and found just empty shop behind him, Julio Richter panicked.

Two Years Ago:

His hand itched when he thought about the past and Rictor wondered if it was some sort of brain damage. To keep his mind off of the past and off of the present danger of pneumonia, he started pacing the lab, looking for things to burn if he could just find a heat source.

And that's when he found the notes. With nothing to burn them *with* he sat down in the red glare of the emergency lights and started to read.

Most of it was gibberish. Rictor had been trained to be a law officer, not a scientist, but what he did read, sounded crazy.

McCoy had dissected an *alien*

Now:

Julio bolted out into the street, his one good eye wild with panic. Up and down the way, just the shanty town and its inhabitants with their familiar expressions of half-managed misery.

He bit back his other fear, the fear that kept their heads down and their eyes on the ground when they came to this place, and asked a woman carrying a basket to what amounted to the local pub. His voice ground, rusty and unused except for the occasional one-sided conversation with Seven.

But it was enough, and he soon found Seven hunched behind the store, the owner's small and very, very human daughter by his side.

Two Years Ago:

The alien looked human, Rictor thought as he thumbed through the files. Four fingers, that was weird, but he wouldn't have looked out of place anywhere on earth.

Notes about the dimensional rift the creature had fallen from reminded him painfully of Gambit and his merry band and Rictor sighed, rubbing the back of his hand against the ruin of his face. But what caught Rictor's attention the most was the note that followed.

After the creature had been "euthanised", Beast had set about trying to clone it. And from the attached photos, it was somewhere in lab that Rictor was currently trying not to freeze to death in.

He looked around. It had to be better than just waiting to die.


	3. Seven little tanks, all in a row

Two Years Ago:

Rictor's feet hurt. They were cold and peppered with tiny cuts from the debris strewn around the lab. But his feet took his mind off of everything else.

Until he found the tanks. Which promptly took his mind off his feet.

There were seven of them, dull green, sickly in the red glow of the emergency lights. Whatever had struck the lab or the city above it, whatever had freed Rictor from the bottle he'd been trapped in, had been the end of six of the clones. Six rotting corpses curled in on themselves in the stagnant, stinking goo that leaked down the sides and crusted the bottoms in a sickly crust.

On the nearby shelves, dust-shrouded containers, their power long-since shut off, destroying whatever remained within, competed for space with skulls all neatly arranged and labeled.

Rictor reminded himself that he'd seen worse in his tour of duty under Apocalypse, but the smell drifting off the broken tanks didn't help. The smell and the silence.

His stomach was empty, so the revulsion hit him in the gut with a dry heave and he sank to his knees. It was a silent charnel house except for the sound of his ragged breathing and the fitful hum of tank 7's dying pumps.

Now:

No less than a hundred awful, horrible scenarios flashed through Julio's brain as he saw Seven crouched next to the child. His throat felt tight and the ground began to tremble ever so slightly. "S..seven." He croaked.

Both the child and the clone turned to look at him, and about fifty of the scenarios vanished. The knife-bright eyes flicked over, a silent beckoning, and Julio took a careful step forward.

"Ah, it's that goddamn cat." The shopkeeper said from behind him and the former mudir almost screamed.

"What?" Julio rasped, confused.

"Cat hangs around. Keeps th' mice outta my storeroom. Just had kittens." The shopkeeper continued, but to Julio, he might as well have been reciting the Beast's notes. The conversation had taken a left turn into surprisingly... normal territory.

He wasn't sure how to react.

"Kittens, gonna just breed more cats we can't take care'a. You know, like mutants, they'd get everywhere and cause trouble." the big man sighed and Julio twitched, knowing what was probably coming next. "So we gotta take care of 'em, ya know?" He made a vague gesture.

There was a sudden scrape of gravel and Seven was up on his feet, staring at them both.

(Hell of a great time to suddenly clue in on the conversation, kid.) was all that Julio could wearily think.

Two Years Ago:

Once, long ago, long before Apocalypse had taken him from the ruins of his family, before the transport where he'd clutched that small hand, there had been a picture book.

A princess from a kingdom under the ocean.

Rictor couldn't remember the story clearly except for one image of her, floating in the green sea, faint light flickering on her pale skin and her long red hair floating about her like fine silk.

He took a tentative step towards the tank, and tried to swallow with his sand dry mouth. He pressed a hand against the thick, warm glass and held his breath, watching the figure float.

Then bright, bright eyes flicked open and a hand shot forward, striking against the glass with a dull thud.

Rictor was too startled to even scream.

Now:

"I hope you're happy." Julio growled as they made their way out of the shantytown. The pack across Seven's back was lighter than it should have been by one can of tinned peaches.

Seven's coat was slightly heavier though, by one small, furry creature that peered out from the front cradled against his chest.

"We can't save them all, Seven." He grumbled, fishing out a battered, hand-rolled cigarette from his own pocket. At least the bastard had given them that much pity. "you can't ever save them all."

The bright eyes looked him over for a long minute, but, as always, he was silent.


	4. Two riders were approaching

Two Years Ago:

He had been talking to the being in the tank for hours as he leafed through the Beast's notes. Stupid things, about the command that he'd loved, even if the area wasn't his favourite, about how he'd been so proud to be among the fittest.

He didn't even know if the clone could hear him or understand him, but those bright silver-blue eyes watched him intently.

His stomach growled pitifully and Rictor entertained a brief, hysterical thought about cracking open the tank and trying to eat the creature within. He caught himself partway through and apologised out loud.

He should have been trying to find a way to escape the lab, he knew that. But every sidelong glance at the remains left in the other six tanks drove a wedge in his resolve. And even though it was just a whisper next to Apocalypse's voice in his head noting they were failed creations, unfit for survival, there was a tiny voice. Not even a whisper really.

It reminded him that ultimately, he'd been judged the same way.

But Rictor, former Mudir of the Kadaj squadron, was a contrary and stubborn young man. And if Beast's notes said what he thought they were, he had his hands a weapon- fused of alien and mutant DNA- that he could use to avenge himself on his former lord.

There could be no other explanation in his mind as to why he furiously pawed through McCoy's paperwork, trying to find a way to open tank 7 without killing what lie within.

Now:

It had been a cargo train once, the place they'd called home for the last year. Left to rust away during the early days of Apocalypse's reign.

Julio had originally planned to keep pushing west, until they discovered that there was nothing left of the midwest but a glassy, radioactive crater. The closer they'd gotten to it, the sicker he'd become. At the time, a tiny part of him knew he was ranting and delusional, cursing Apocalypse and the humans until his power had broken free and the quakes rolled across the dead earth, the glass shrieking like some ancient dying thing.

Seven had knocked him unconscious and Julio had only sporadic memories after that of the long, silent miles he'd been carried until they reached a place where the fever dropped and he could no longer hear the earth screaming quite so acutely.

He'd heard talk on the road that Mexico still survived in some form. And while he recovered, Julio made up stories to pass the winter nights, telling Seven about the warm water of the Gulf and warmer beaches in the sun and how that's where they would go.

Julio stoked the fire in the battered old barrel stove they'd cobbled together and watched the clone, who in turn watched the kitten eat a tiny portion of the protein pack. "You shouldn't get so attached." He said for his own benefit, but Seven turned to look at him and left the kitten to finish it's food.

"We're gonna be moving on when it gets warm again." Julio rasped, as Seven sat down. He leaned his chin on Julio's knee, tangled scarlet hair falling around his legs. "We've been here too long already."

Two Years Ago:

It was only sheer luck that he hadn't killed the being in Tank 7. Beast hadn't left any real notes on what he'd called 'the decanting process' and Rictor was not particularly good with machines. But he'd pushed some buttons and pulled some levers, letting luck or fate guide his hand, and hoped for the best.

Even then, when the gel had drained out, it had left the creature choking and gasping, his lungs still filled with it.

Rictor had acted on some deep-buried instinct, helping the other clear his lungs, forcing his own breath in them when it seemed they would still. The clone found his own breath with a shuddering gasp and came to, cradled in Rictor's arms.

They'd sat for what seemed like a lifetime like that, until Rictor pushed sodden scarlet hair away and ran his thumb over the clone's too-perfect cheekbone. "You're mine, now." He'd rasped over the sound of his own jackhammering heartbeat.

Now:

Julio couldn't clearly remember the first time they'd had sex. It had been some chill night, probably, Seven squirming against him to share warmth. A squirm that had slowly shifted into little touches, touches that had become awkward kisses.

Even now, in this place they'd called home for so long, that's how it always began - tentative, never quite certain, even though it always ended up the same way.

Seven arched back above him, silent except for a soft gasp of breath. The banked fire in the stove gave only the faintest hint of red along the edges of his face as he ground down on Julio's shaft. Seven's hands were rough from wear and cold, but they were gentle, always, on the scars tracking across Julio's skin.

And when they were done, sweaty and sticky and exhausted, Seven's newfound pet clambering amongst the tattered covers to share their heat, one thought latched into his brain and would not leave.

It shouted over the sound of Seven's pulse in his ears, and the warmth tugging him down to sleep.

Something was coming for them and they needed go. Soon.


	5. Sometimes, there is no preparing

Two Years Ago:

They had clawed their way to the surface through a caved-in access tunnel. It led them through a ruined subway station to a grey, cold day in New York. And all the while, through every painful, inching scrabble, he talked. Apocalypse may have judged him unfit, but Mudir Rictor was back and he was going to show his Lord just how fit he was.

By killing him. Then Apocalypse would understand.

Stretching naked in the grimy daylight, Rictor thought had never been so happy to see anything in his entire life, taking a deep breath. "Hey, Clone." He coughed, hugging himself once again and rubbing his arms. "We need to find some clothes. Don't wanna die of pneumonia before I get the chance for revenge."

When he turned, though, the clone was gone.

Now:

"We leave behind anything we can't carry." Julio rasped, looking around their shelter. He refused to think of it as their home, but allowed himself that he'd miss the consistent warmth of the barrel stove.

He caught Seven's eyes on him as they methodically loaded their packs. "Don't look at me like that. I know I said we were leavin' in the spring- but this is your fault." He growled. "You went and made me worry. My goddamn powers slipped. They're gonna be looking for us, Seven." He stabbed a finger at the silent redhead. "That's why we gotta stay away from everybody."

He'd heard stories, radio and TV broadcasts caught in recovering villages and towns as they'd travelled. The X-Men. Magneto and his merry band were hunting them. It was just damn lucky that they hadn't found them when Julio had added to the layers of destruction in the midwest.

The tremor he'd shook the shantytown with the day before was a tiny one, but what if it was enough? They would find him. They would find Seven.

"Fuck that." He growled again, shoving the last of his belongings in his pack.

Two Years Ago:

Rictor never asked the clone where he'd gotten the dirty, stinking clothes. There hadn't been any blood on them, at least. But they did the job and Rictor was grateful to not be shivering anymore.

Something was wrong, though. Something was different. And it only took a little bit of investigating to find out what.

Apocalypse was dead.

When he finally processed that, the thought hollowed him out, taking every single emotion he had along with the ability to stand. His legs folded under him and he sank to the crumbled sidewalk, looking at his hands.

Apocalypse was dead.

And then Rictor started to laugh.


	6. and the wind began to howl

Now:

It was still dark when they left the shelter. Seven scowled up at the purple sky, fitful stars poking through the heavy clouds. Julio noticed he'd set the kitten in his deep hood, luminescent eyes peering out at him in the gloom.

He wished the easiest way to the ruins of old Route 99 didn't lead past the shantytown - for both their sakes and the people who'd been their neighbours for the last year. That last part startled him, and he glared at the big man next to him. "All your fault." He grumbled.

Twenty Months Ago:

There was the day that Rictor learned two important things about Clone 7. It was in a run-down inn located in what had once been, seemingly a thousand years ago, some arty little town nestled between New Jersey and Pennsylvania. It had a dangerously close to exploding hack-job still in the back and stunk of old beer and piss, but it had rooms to let and something resembling hot food to eat.

Two pig-ugly bastards, the kind of mutant thugs that even Rictor wouldn't have hesitated to run in when he'd been a prelate, drunk on local hooch and busting up the joint, terrorising the sapiens and the weaker mutants. When they'd started, Rictor had to practically order the clone to sit - last thing they needed was to get in a dust up that would attract anyone's attention.

The first thing that he learned was that the clone would not sit out a fight for very long. The second thing he learned, moments later, was that any fight he was in, wouldn't last very long either.

Now:

They crept through the town in the chilly night. It was silent except for the yip of a dog here, the creak of salvaged sheet metal walls there. Julio's nerves felt like they were stretched too thin, like wires vibrating in the back of his neck.

He'd be happy when they were long gone from this place and working their way ever further south.

There was another bark, a dog across the way and Seven stiffened beside him. Immediately, one big hand clamped over Julio's mouth, and he dragged them both into the shadows between buildings. Seven's other arm closed around Julio and held him tight against his chest.

Someone else was out there.

One Year Ago:

Julio sat against the wall of the burned out train car that had been their shelter for the last few weeks. Dim lights glowed in the hollow down the way- a sure sign of something that passed for civilisation in these parts. He'd been weighing the options in his mind ever since he'd been conscious enough to understand what that meant.

His fever had broken a few days ago, and although weak, his stomach was growling. He didn't want to think too hard on what Seven had been possibly feeding him while he'd been delirious, but the young man sleeping curled next to him was looking painfully gaunt.

He reached over and brushed a lock of dust-coated copper back from Seven's forehead, then let his hand fall as his companion stirred faintly, squirming his cheek against Julio's shoulder.

Maybe tomorrow, Julio thought, he'd be strong enough to go down there and try and bargain for something for them to eat.

Now:

Seven's hand was still clamped over his mouth, his body utterly still, straining to listen in the darkness.

And then Julio heard the footsteps on the rough ground. Too brisk, too self-assured to be their neighbours.

Then a strange growl of a voice. "Here. He's here somewhere."

The X-men had found them.


	7. The hour's getting late

Two Years Ago:

Rictor had no idea what the hell "concussive acoustikinesis" was, and the silent floating creature in the tank didn't seem capable of helping him with a definition.

Now:

Everything happened so quickly.

Seven had shoved Julio further back in the shadows with his pack and the kitten,grabbing out a piece of rebar up as he did. He only paused to look down at Julio with unreadable eyes, then pressed his finger to Julio's lips. What might have been the tiniest of smiles twitched across Seven's face.

"shh." It was the closest thing Julio had ever heard him come to speaking.

Ten Months Ago:

It was almost always cold, thanks to the thick clouds of ash and earth kicked up by the bombs. Julio didn't curse it more than he did the day he'd found the pond they'd been using for water frozen over from an especially cold night.

He briefly toyed with the idea of using his powers. Just a little tiny quake, the tectonic equivalent of a nudge, really, would be enough to shatter the ice. The X-Men probably wouldn't even be able to pick it up.

Probably. Most likely. Maybe.

Then Seven had nudged him aside and jammed that damn piece of rebar he carried like a sword into the ice. Julio had been about to lecture him about how long it was going to take to chip away at it, when he realised there was no sound.

The chilly breeze shook the skeleton leaves on the trees, and irritated birds took to the sky like black ash falling backwards, and not any of it made a single sound. There was utter silence.

And then there was the hum.

Now:

Julio recognized two of the X-Men from the shadows where he crouched. One of them- Dazzler- was one of Magneto's commanders- and she was trying to contain a situation that had already spiraled out of her control.

People had started peering out of their shabby homes, whatever weapons they could find clutched to them. None wanted to get in the middle of a mutant street brawl. Julio found himself cursing the X-Men for deciding to throw down in the middle of a populated area.

"Stand down!" Dazzler shouted. The air around her shimmered like diamonds as she tried to get a shot off in at the knot of violence unfolding in front of her. "I don't even know who you are! We're looking for Mudir Rictor!"

Seven was locked in a brutal dance with a feral shapeshifter that he didn't know- her claws had already raked huge bloody gashes through his dirty coat even as there was a brittle snap of her bone under his makeshift weapon.

The third X-Man, Rictor knew all too well. He couldn't exactly remember her name- Celebration? Jubilation? Whatever, but she'd been one of Gambit's little crew. Plasma burster. Dazzler was making her stay behind her, no doubt the kid had muscled her way onto the team for a little bit of revenge.

The sound deadened around them for a microsecond and there was a brilliant bolt of light, white-hot in the darkness. It singed the werewolf who bounded backwards with a curse and glanced off of Seven.

Dazzler looked at her hands for a moment, then back at the unaffected man in front of her. "You're immune to my powers?" She sputtered. "shit."

Ten Months Ago:

The hum was quite possibly the most awful thing Julio had ever heard. It was a maw of black sound, the kind he found himself imagining an abyss would make right before it swallowed you whole.

And it was coming from Seven and that metal shard he'd driven into the ice.

Thankfully, it only lasted a moment before the ice rippled and broke, and Julio nearly fell over his own feet trying to grab Seven before he fell, face first into the icy muck.

Now:

In the moment of confusion that reigned after Dazzler's failed attack, the barely controlled chaos split wide open with a blinding plasma burst and everything seemed to slow down.

Julio blinked. There was the smell of burnt flesh and hair.

He scrambled to his feet even as Seven dropped to his knees. Gambit's kid (what was her name, damnit!?) was shouting something and the werewolf was lunging towards Seven with a roar.

One footstep. Seven jammed the rebar into the ground, his face blinded and charred.

Another footstep. Julio's shout couldn't be heard because everything had gone silent. Even Dazzler's glow dimmed, leaving the street in darkness.

To Julio's mind, the surge of earth was a small one, no worse than a strong tide rolling in on a beach, but it was enough to knock everyone off their feet, to break the spell of silence before that horrible black sound rippled through everything.

"STOP IT!" Julio shouted, voice breaking under the new strain. "Stop it. I'm the one you want."

The ground trembled threateningly beneath him, stirring his tattered clothes and wild hair. He knew he must look like a madman with one crazy eye and a squirming kitten clutched in his coat, if the stares he was getting from the X-men was any indicator. "Stop hurting him and maybe we can talk."


	8. stand and deliver

Now:

"Goddamnit, Rahne, Jubilee, STAND DOWN!" Dazzler's glow flared blinding around her and the other X-men stilled.

"But.." Gambit's kid (Jubilee, Julio corrected himself) jammed her hands into the pocket of her coat. "He's such a dick, Alison!"

"What, you're gonna attack us with a kitten?" The werewolf, Rahne, growled as she clutched her arm.

"Shut it, both of you." Dazzler glared at them, then at Julio and Seven. "Goddamnit. I hate stuff like this."

Julio inched towards where Seven still knelt. His broad shoulders shook slightly with his ragged breaths. "Seven? You ok?" He asked with a knot coiling in his guts. What Julio could see of the other man's face- half hidden behind his bright, singed hair- was not good.

The big head nodded slightly, and Seven lurched to his feet, gripping the rebar for support.

"That one of your goons, Rictor?" Jubilee said from behind Dazzler. "You coward."

The ground shook for a moment, cracks tearing themselves in the earth before it stilled. "He's... not my goon, kid." Julio said after a long moment, looking at Dazzler while he spoke. "Look. I'll be honest, here. I got nothin' t'lose." He made a vague gesture, then seemed to realise he was still holding the kitten. Carefully, he set the squirming little beast in the crook of Seven's injured arm, where the little bastard promptly fell asleep. "I was a law officer in New York, for whatever that was worth. your asshole friends ruined my career. Got me killed."

He took a little pleasure in the perplexed look on their faces. "Beast made sure I got better, and then you jerks go and kill Apocalypse before I can. So that's *twice* the X-Men have fucked everything up for me. I'm not letting you kill him too, or take him off to whatever kind of prison camp you have set up for the old regime. If you promise to let him go, I'll.. fuck. I'll go with you." He scowled at them all.

Seven jerked his head towards Julio. Blackened skin was slowly flaking off to reveal healing pink beneath. His eyes shut though, and Julio's stomach did a sick twist at the thought that they hadn't finished regrowing yet. His voice broke with the lurch "You insist on taking him, and I swear to whatever you worship that you, me, this town? This whole goddamn section of the country? Will be one big giant canyon."

Dazzler stared at him for a long moment, then fished a cigarette out of her jacket pocket. "Well, goddamn yourself, Mudir Rictor. That's a hell of a speech." It might have been a rueful smirk that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Julio was about to rant some more when a hand slipped into his. It was rough, and bloody and dirty, but the big fingers curled around his hand and held it tightly. "Goddamnit, Seven." He shook his head. "This is all your fault." But he squeezed back.

 

~~~~~

 

Six months later:

He was having a nightmare where the Beast was hugging him to death.

Julio woke up with a panicked, flailing start to find the goddamn Cat on his face and goddamn Seven stuck to his back.

After everyone had been resettled, he squinted at the faded clock on the far wall. Early morning sunlight slitted through the window and somewhere outside, there was the distant sound of gulls arguing.

Seven grunted softly next to him, and Julio ruffled his hair, looking down into the pale eyes. "Still another hour before we gotta get up go to the job site." He said softly.

Outside, beyond the dusty windows, the bony sillhoutte of the Gulf Coast Reconstruction Project loomed overhead.

After everything, sometimes Julio couldn't understand why he was still alive.

But for once, he wasn't going to complain.


End file.
